


Strength and weaknesses

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After retrieving Belle from the Queens of Darkness, Rumplestiltskin teaches his maid how to use a sword so she can fend for herself in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength and weaknesses

Rumplestiltskin’s movements are soundless as he heads into the main hall of the Dark Castle, observing his maid as she sits quietly in his favorite chair, as if she belongs there. Nothing about her suggests that she was almost killed by the Sea Witch only a few hours ago.

The Dark One himself is far from unaffected. He can’t even begin to determine what’s more terrifying: the fact that he almost lost Belle or the fact that he, in a moment of shocked relief, let slip just how much she means to him.

Either way, he doesn’t ever want her to be taken away from him again, let alone so easily. The wards of his estate have already been expanded to the outer gardens from where Belle disappeared and he’ll definitely keep a better eye on her safety from now on, but that isn’t quite enough for his liking.

After all, it would be a horrible waste to lose the maid he dealt for because she never got the opportunity to learn to fend for herself.

Or at least, that’s what the Dark One tells himself for his own peace of mind. Anything to forget about that wishful look in her eyes just before he caught her experimentally holding the longsword she took from his collection earlier that day.

“Put that book aside, dearie. I’ve got something else for you to do.”

Only when he addresses her and throws one of the blades he’s holding onto the large table she’s seated at, he alerts her to his presence. The sword may be small, but it still clatters loudly on the wooden surface.

Belle looks up abruptly, but doesn’t try to hide in the slightest that he caught her once again reading rather than doing any of the chores he assigned to her.

“Do you want me to polish this?” she asks, her too pretty blue eyes undeterred as she picks up the sword, studying it with unconcealed interest.

“I want you to use it,” he replies, putting as much indifference in his voice as he can.

“I… I don’t know how,” she says, lowering her head slightly. “Or  _why_ , for that matter.”

“Because it’s about high time you learn,” he responses, her reaction just what he thought it was going to be.

“How?” she asks, her interest turning that single word into a whole story of hope and excitement.

“Because the best sword fighter in all the realms is going to teach you, of course.”

“Who is he?” she asks, smiling broadly as she stands up from the table, holding the sword. “Or who is  _she_ , perhaps?”

“Must you ask?” he asks, covering his heart with his hand in a mocking gesture of hurt. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No! Who is this teacher you speak of, the best in all the realms?”

“Why,  _me_ of course!” he chirps, pointing at himself with a dramatic flourish of both his hands.

“ _You_ are going to teach me?” she asks, looking at him with disbelief.

“Of course. Disappointed, dearie? Were you expecting a brave,  _handsome_ knight?”

“No, I wasn’t expecting anyone or anything in particular. I’m just surprised, but in a good way. I would love for you to teach me how to use a sword, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Now, now, I’m not tolerating lies from my insolent maid,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at her.

Much as she would like him to think otherwise - for nothing but tactical reasons, of course - there is after all no way that she could  _truly_ like him, would  _really_ enjoy his presence, let alone have him teach her how to use a sword.

“I  _do_ like to be taught by you,” she says, playfully swatting his hand away as if he were a friend rather than the darkest sorcerer of all. “I just didn’t think you’d be willing to teach me.”

“Someone’s got to,” he replies, masking his confusion with annoyance. “I can’t have my maid being stolen from me all the time.”

“Of course not,” she beams, all but jumping on her feet in apparent excitement at the prospect of learning to fight with a sword. “But I must warn you… I’ve never done anything like this before. I really don’t know anything. You’ll have to teach me everything, from the very beginning.”

“Already trying to talk your way out of this, dearie?”

He’d say anything to make an end to that radiant, thoroughly excited look on her face.

Still, the exasperated gaze she offers in return is somehow worse.

“Just don’t expect me to be any better at this than at cooking.”

“I most certainly hope your swordplay won’t be as outrageous as the meals you prepare."

“And yet, you eat them in their entirety, every single time,” she shoots back, her smile impossibly sweet. “It’s just that I never learned before, like I never learned to cook or clean.”

“And why not, huh?,” he asks, trying to persuade himself that this is never going to work if she remains so… so…  _happy._ “Because you’re more likely to harm people with your books or with your tongue than with a sword? Or with your cooking, for that matter?”

“No, because I’m a wo…”

“Because you’re too small to lift a regular sword, let alone use it?”

“No! I’ve always wanted to learn, but Gaston and even papa said that a lady can’t…”

“Enough of your excuses,” he snarls, his anger real this time, although she of course can never know that the anger is directed at the men who wouldn’t let her pursue her interest, rather than at her. “Take that sword to the middle of the hall and stand there as if we are about to start a duel. Show me just how much I’m going to have to teach you.”

Belle does as he says, all but skipping to the empty space, her smile never fading from her face. She looks like she’s going to have one of those much-talked about adventures she dreams of and he isn’t certain at all whether he can continue to pretend that he doesn’t care, that her enthusiasm isn’t infectious.

Never letting go of the sword he gave her, she positions her limbs, torso and the weapon that’s now the extension of her arm, almost exactly like he was going to tell her to, when he still presumed that she knows indeed as little about sword fighting as she just said.

“Your stance is… sufficient,” he admits, but this time it’s not difficult to keep the suspicion out of his voice. “It seems like you know quite a lot about sword-fighting after all.”

“I did try to learn, but I never got beyond watching the men in the yard or looking at pictures in books.”

“I see,” he brings out, imagining Belle looking down on a variety of shirtless, handsome young men showing off their progress and, worse, their muscled, glistening bodies.

“I couldn’t even get a stick of which I could pretend it was a sword. So I just thought… I really thought I didn’t know anything about it. My imagination is the only place I ever expected I’d be able to use a sword.”

“You’d better start imagining the here and now, then,” he offers weakly, more aware than ever before of how much she enjoys this, that he is giving her something she has dreamed of for a long time. “And move your chin up.”

Again, she does as he tells her, moving with that seemingly never ceasing quick eagerness.

“And continue to stretch your arm at the same angle. Can’t have you getting tired already, dearie.”

“At least I’ve become a lot stronger since I’ve become your maid,” she just says, smiling at him as if she considers it a good thing.

“Some words of advice,” he changes the subject with insincere harshness. “Don’t forget that you won’t be able to harm me, even if you would manage to slice my skin. Just so you know that there’s no point in actually trying to kill me.”

Belle just rolls her eyes at him, as if the notion of her really trying to hurt him is a ridiculous one, and tightens her grip on the sword.

~

They have been going back and forth for at least two hours now, parrying and blocking, lunging and leaping, and Rumplestiltskin has forgotten that he’s merely teaching his maid how to defend herself, or to engage her in an activity she has longed for at the very most.

He’s enjoying himself like he hasn’t since he became the Dark One… or perhaps more than he ever has in his life, delighted by her determination and her progress, by the unexplainable but undeniable elation she too finds in this, in  _him._

There is undeniable joy in the way they move through the large hall together, swinging their swords at each other with playful vigor as if they are comrades or even friends rather than the beauty and the beast, or only a master and a servant at the most.

What he does not forget at all, not for even a second, is that Belle is yet more beautiful than she has ever been to him when she slashes at him with her sword, sweaty and panting and radiant, her chest heaving and glistening with perspiration and her curls messily framing her flushed cheeks.

He’d better make an end to their practice before things get out of hand, because his distraction is bound to cause an accident of sorts probably sooner rather than later… but not without teaching her one final lesson, possibly the most important one of all.

Rumplestiltskin has been considerably holding back in this practice fight, his curse providing him with swordplay skills far superior to those of any mortal - let alone a petite maiden. Both of them know that she would never be able to beat him in a real fight, but this is only an exercise, and he’s convinced that he can trick her into believing she has won.

And indeed, when he seemingly accidentally blocks her attack half a second too late, he ends up with the point of her sword mere inches from his heart, her eyes wide with surprise and triumph.

Belle may not be able to physically harm his rapidly beating heart like this, but there’s no knowing what sort of impact her smiles and apparent fondness may have on him. The sight of her sword right above his heart, with him unable to do much more than hope for her mercy, couldn’t be more accurate.

Still, there’s one more lesson to be taught… one of which she’ll hopefully understand that it doesn’t only refer to swordplay or fights in general.

“It seems you have bested me,” he says, rising up his hands in surrender, but never letting only slightly go of his sword.

“So it seems,” Belle says, surprised and awed and, to his silent approval, somewhat suspicious.

He strikes as soon as she lowers her sword in admittedly disbelieving victory, moving the sharp steel away from his body.

Without a second of hesitation, Rumplestiltskin swings his sword at her now that she has lowered hers, not giving her the opportunity to block his strike in time.

“And now I have bested  _you_ ,” he says, giggling shrilly. “Don’t  _ever_ let your guard down until your opponent is powerless - or dead.”

“You didn’t play fair,” she cries out indignantly, seemingly more upset by his tactic than by the fact that his blade is right against the delicate, flawless skin of her neck.

“You’re surprised that the Dark One doesn’t play  _fair_?” he snickers, willing her to understand that he isn’t only referring to their sword-fight practice. “Playing fair won’t get you far in life, dearie. Don’t ever forget that.”

“You let me think on purpose that I beat you,” she fumes, not even flinching at the sharp metal brushing her skin. He withdraws it for an inch or so just in case, but she doesn’t appear to notice as she angrily points her sword at him.

“I did,” he says, his voice softening. “If you use that sword for real, there will be no room for indecisiveness or mercy. You’d better learn that here than on the battlefield.”

She nods in understanding, her anger disappearing just as quickly as it arose. He’s strangely grateful to see her relax again.

“In that case…”

One moment he’s admiring her gentle smile and a second later the impossible slip of a woman rushes towards him, dropping her sword, and unceremoniously throws herself at him while knocking his sword out of his own hand.

She sends the two of them crashing onto the floor, landing firmly on top of him as he lets out a very human shout of bewilderment.

“Is this what you were talking about?” she asks, grinning down on him.

He can’t verbally confirm that, can’t even nod. Swallowing with sudden difficulty, Rumplestiltskin is uncomfortably aware that his beautiful maid is fully lying on top of him, _straddling_ him and even pinning his wrists down to the floor next to his head to keep him still, her breasts all but spilling from her dress right above him.

Taking in shuddering breaths of air, he doesn’t even try to focus on what just happened, beyond relieved already when he is able to drag his gaze away from her cleavage and settle his eyes on her face instead.

Granted, between her bright eyes and mischievous smile that’s hardly a less distracting sight. Despite his powers he is completely at her mercy… and deep inside of him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He’s idly aware that her body covers his almost in its entirety. In the end, when it all comes down to it, he is a slight person himself as well. After all, Belle wasn’t the only one who had all three Queens of Darkness practically towering over her. He just hopes that his maid wasn’t fully aware of Cruella’s quip about his limited height. It’s not as if his current appearance isn’t awful enough already without that particular aspect of it.

“Do you think you are completely powerless now?” the minx asks cheekily, shifting her weight slightly. “Are you really defeated, or should I keep you like this for a while longer?”

Rumplestiltskin can’t even begin to respond to that, both options as much a relief as a disaster. Speaking of which… the current situation becomes more pressing, as it were, now that her increased grip on him has her stomach brushing his groin and her sweet curls falling in his face.

Utilizing his inhuman strength for a whole different reason than he would have imagined a moment ago, he pushes her off him out of sheer self-preservation, that too caused by something else entirely than before.

Rolling them over so that she no longer controls the level of contact between their bodies, he intuitively keeps his hand against the back of her head to cushion it from the hard floor beneath them.

By the time they’re almost forehead to forehead, the movement bringing them only more closely together, Rumplestiltskin realizes far too late that this only makes things worse.

“Belle, I…”

His apology is stuck in his throat when she smiles gently up at him, not seeming to mind in the slightest that she is pinned to the ground by the Dark One, their chests pressed together and their arms around one another as they breathe in the same air.

“It seems like you have bested me after all,” she says, not sounding upset either by losing their practice sword-fight or, indeed, by the fact that a very rarely used part of him twitches against her.

“Indeed,” he mutters, finally finding the presence of mind and the control over his body to hurriedly push himself off her, offering her his hand to help her stand up as well as soon as he is back on his own feet.

“We should do this again,” she says, beaming at him, still looking too beautiful for words. “I require more practice. Besides, learning to fight like this made me feel…”

“Made you feel like what?” he asks quietly when she falters, picking up his sword in the hope that it’ll distract her from the impact that their previous closeness still has on him.

“It made me feel in control,” Belle replies meaningfully, just as softly. “Like a hero.”

He stares at her, utterly failing to shake the feeling that she isn’t only referring to the means to defend herself.

“Can we do this again?”

Rumplestiltskin nods against his better judgment, the way he holds his sword in front of him strategic in a whole different way than before.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Wanting her company and her closeness like he never needed anything or anyone else, he offers her his hand in acceptance.

“We have a deal,” he says hoarsely, hardly bothered for the time being that he just agreed to what’s probably going to be both the best and the most foolish deal of his very long life.


End file.
